Dog's Blood
by DilophoLehnsherr
Summary: Klaus didn't have much in the way of a working memory, but he was sure that he didn't belong in The Fort, where he was treated like property and seen as a lesser being. If only he knew the past that that scar on his forehead really held. On the other side of the Mojave, a certain band of misfits led by a Follower doesn't take too kindly to their friend getting kidnapped.
1. Chapter 1

If Klaus was asked to single out one superficial thing he loathed about being in shackles, he would say it was the collar. It was always cold, like the metal was designed to block heat rather than conduct it. It pinched at his throat whenever he swallowed or turned his head, that brief sting reminding him that his life belonged to someone else. It could blow his head clean off at the touch of a button if he dared to step foot outside the barriers set for him, guaranteeing his obedience and his isolation from the world outside. But one of the worst things about the collar permanently clamped around his neck was that it was just slightly too small; he couldn't breathe properly if he wasn't facing straight ahead, and the compression to his windpipe had caused a patch of bruising to peak out from under the metal. With no relief, coupled with the Legion's mentality that medicine makes one weak, he'd probably have that splotch of dark purple and faded green until the day he died.

There were other things Klaus hated, of course. It came with the territory. Once one got passed the notion that he was a living, breathing, thinking, sentient being who was viewed as property to be mistreated at the whim of the owner, there was still the malnourishment, the scraps tossed at him by Legionnaires indoctrinated into a totalitarian rule from the moment they were born. There were still the problems with his head: the chunks of static that clung to his subconscious as the shadows of memories not quite clear enough to decipher; the headaches that were getting steadily worse as his unknown condition went untreated, and that nasty, jagged scar that struck out from under his hairline as the last clue towards a major, life-changing injury that he couldn't even remember.

But the emotions were there, every time he caught his murky reflection in the river by the Fort, or felt that sudden aching jab when one of his headaches started. A vengeful anger that only a victim can feel, but not directed towards Caesar, or the Frumentarii, or Legate Lanius. It was misplaced, yet somehow felt accomplished, as though he had already settled the score. Whenever he tried to grasp at the memory, he could only hear random sentences from the same voice: "you've made your last delivery, kid." in a smooth, business-like tone, and "you sick, vindictive _fuck_!" spat at him in a mixture of hopeless fear and rage barely held back. It was those fragmented audio clips that only reminded him that his past was gone, all the bullshit that the Legion had fed him about growing up here was false, and he'd probably never live to find out what was behind those locked doors covered in cobwebs and caked in dust.

Sometimes he wanted to step a few feet too far, get his head blown up in a flurry of blood and chunks of skull, go out with a quite literal bang. But whether he liked it or not, this was his life, and he was too much of a coward to dare to end it prematurely.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: What's up it's your boy, and I'm here to publish a new story after I've been dead on this site for actual years because I moved on to AO3. This is purely a cross-post, and mostly done because I'm an attention-craving piece of shit who needs that sweet validation to convince myself that this shitty story is worth writing to the end. Yeah, I got cynical as all hell since you last saw me all those years ago. Enjoy, I guess? Idk, there's 5000 words worth of craptastic done already, and idk if I'll even remember this site exists in the future, so it'll probably be more reliable to keep up with it on AO3, under the same username and title.**

"Arcade, look!" Klaus's excited voice sounded from up a hill, getting Arcade's attention. He didn't know what he was expecting when he looked up, but a courier sitting in a pile of snow, some of the fluffy powder in his hair and a massive smile on his face, was not it.

Arcade let out a small chuckle at the sight, shaking his head in amusement. "You're gonna catch a cold!" He called back, but as was his attitude towards most dangerous situations, Klaus didn't seem to care. He just shrugged, shot Arcade his 'Whatcha-Gon-Do-About-It?' look, and let himself fall backwards into the drift. Snow in the Mojave was almost as rare as non-irradiated sugar bombs, and Klaus wanted to enjoy this.

"C'mon, nerd. Have some fun fo-AUGH!" Klaus's playful teasing was cut short when a 70-pound cybernetic dog decided to barrel right into him, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of his mouth. Klaus got the wind knocked out of him, and he curled in on himself, coughing. When Rex decided to duck his head and give his owner a proper doggy kiss facial, Klaus started laughing, trying to push Rex aside and escape, but it was futile. "Arcade, help me!" he shouted through the barrage of dog slobber.

"No, I think you can get away from this one." Arcade deadpanned, crossing his arms as he approached the two. "Unless I get something in return for rescuing you from this ferocious beast?"

"Okay, fine. I'll-Rex!" Klaus laughed, trying in vain to shove his dog off of him.

"You're a dork." Arcade shooed Rex away from the courier, helping him up onto his feet and brushing the snow off of his hair and clothes, and fixing his crooked glasses.

"Yeah, but I'm your dork." Klaus shot him a lopsided smile as Arcade picked his hat off of the ground before Rex got to it, brushed his newly-mussed hair back and set it on his head, adjusting it to cover his scar.

Arcade rolled his eyes. "So where's that reward? I did just save you from the Mojave's most dangerous canine."

"Ready to have your mind blown, doc?" Klaus asked, but didn't give the other time to answer before he leaned forward and kissed him, sweet and meaningful.

They had kissed a thousand times before, but damn, Klaus was a good kisser. When they pulled away again, Arcade acted the part of consideration, as if deciding whether or not that was worthy payment, but the brush of light red on his face gave him away. "Hmm… I suppose that suffices."

"Well, good. Because we still gotta track down these runaway bighorners for Marcus an-" Klaus abruptly stopped speaking as a funny expression took hold of his face, followed by a hard sneeze that he just barely managed to cover with his arm. He sniffled, his nose having flushed to a light shade of scarlet along with his cheeks. "Aw, fuck," he was starting to sound congested.

Arcade shook his head, sighing helplessly. "Told you so, but you never listen, do you? C'mon, let's go find these livestock, and then I'll talk to Marcus about letting us stay the night in one of the lodges." He took Klaus's hand in his own, and began to lead them on the trail of hoofprints they had found before. "We'll get you warmed up and I'll see what I can do about your symptoms, then you're going to bed early, doctor's orders."

When Arcade uneasily awoke from the holds of his vivid dream, he was met with the dark of the room. He sat up, the space around him feeling all too large now that he was the only one that occupied the bed. Even with Rex's content snoring at the foot, it hardly felt the same. Klaus was usually here with him, sprawled out and, more often than not, babbling on incoherently as his dreams took him elsewhere. The bed felt too big without him.

As his eyes adjusted to the low lighting, Arcade felt around for his glasses on the nightstand, the world swimming back into focus as he slipped them on. No point in trying to get back to sleep; he'd been restless ever since the courier that stumbled like a Freeside drunk into his life, adventure and excitement in tow, just as suddenly disappeared. It wasn't unlike Klaus to go on random, spur of the moment adventures on his own, but he always told Arcade where he was going, when he'd be back. This time, he just up and vanished, and Arcade had stopped counting the days that he'd been gone.

The others had hypothesized that Klaus had met an untimely end, perhaps by running into one of those cazadors that he was deathly allergic to that he couldn't shoot fast enough. He understood why they felt that way, but Arcade refused to believe it. Maybe it was the denial stage of grief, or his unwillingness to let go of the one man who saw him as a human being, who had seen their relationship as something more than a fling.

He sat up, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the inertia and insomnia making for a bad combination when one's mind is still muddled. A quiet, concerned beep alerted him to the doorframe, where ED-E was floating in his nightly round of laps when no one was awake to pay attention to him. Arcade narrowed his eyes at him in distrust, but the eyebot floated in anyway, getting uncomfortably close.

"Can you just leave me alone?" Arcade said, but ED-E persisted, and gently nudged his metallic body against Arcade's shoulder, making him flinch. "What do you want? Is one of your circuit boards malfunctioning again?"

ED-E emitted a negative, shock noise, and shook in the air.

"Then go bother someone else," Arcade growled. He really didn't feel like talking, especially not to an Enclave eyebot that only brought back bad memories. With all his other repressed emotions right now, he really didn't need the negative nostalgia to pile on top. But ED-E didn't respond to his command. Instead, he opened the small storage compartment below his grill and tilted himself forward, dropping a small, metal key into Arcade's lap.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he picked it up, turning it over in his hand. There was a small, ripped label on it that read _Guns_ in Klaus's nearly unreadable chicken scratch. "Okay, what?" Arcade looked back up to ED-E with a new willingness to cooperate. He wasn't sure how to feel about the key, and he had half a mind to strip ED-E for scrap for bringing up Klaus, but he wanted to know where this was going.

ED-E whizzed over to the locked storage locker on the floor of the bedroom, beeping like mad in a tone of urgency. Arcade stood up, walked over to the locker, and kneeled in front of it. "This won't exactly be new to me, considering that I know what all his guns are. Unless we find a conveniently-placed note detailing exactly where he is, I'm not sure what you're hoping to find in here."

" _BZZT!"_ ED-E replied in annoyance. Ugh, if only Klaus were here, he could understand what the bot was sayin-

 _Stop it._ He firmly berated himself, cutting off all wistful thinking of his missing partner that would only lead to depression. Reluctantly, he decided to listen, if only to satisfy whatever glitch-induced impulse that flying lightning ball was currently having. Arcade stuck the key in the padlock, pulled it off, and opened the trunk, greeted with the same unorganized mess he always saw while Klaus geared up.

There were three guns that Klaus regularly used: a .45 rifle, a 12.7 rifle, and a 10mm submachine gun. All were modified by him, crafted by an expert hand to deal death to any unlucky adversary who crossed his path. The .45 and 12.7s were secondary to the most versatile of the bunch, which Klaus took with him everywhere. Arcade brushed off the dust from the wood of the .45, exhaling hard when he saw that name carved into the slide, a mark of ownership. He set that to the side, and did the same to the 12.7. That should have be it. If Klaus was gone, he would have that 10mm.

Arcade shot a dirty look up at ED-E, who, despite lacking facial features, seemed to be giving him a cue to go on. "Look, I appreciate that you've got him on your mind too, but I really don't need this right now."

" _BZZT!"_ ED-E repeated, with even more urgency than before. It seemed like he was gesturing to something, the way he was arching his body in a downward motion. Reluctantly, Arcade shifted his focus to the trunk again, which was full of boxes of spare bullets haphazardly tossed on top of each other. However, between two boxes of 12.7 rounds, a metallic glint caught the low light in the room. Arcade furrowed his brow, and pushed the ammo aside, reaching in and fishing out an eerily familiar firearm: a 10mm submachine gun with a near-illegible name carved into the slide.

"What the f-?" Arcade's words trailed off when a cold realization dawned on him, his blood running cold. He peered up at ED-E again, this time without his usual malice. "Klaus wouldn't have left this behind, not if he left of his own volition. This…" He shook his head, trying to process what this clue was telling him. "This was foul play."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that Arcade's mind reached a firm decision. He stood, pocketed the gun, whistled at Rex to wake up and follow him, and grabbed his Followers coat off of the desk on his way out.

"Foul play? What, like a murder?" Veronica asked, her arms crossed and her hair mussed from the sleep she had just been shaken from.

"Please, don't even consider that possibility," Arcade shoved that thought away the second Veronica had brought it up. "Besides, it wouldn't be wise to murder someone with so many connections. That leaves too many ways to tie it back to the perpetrator. No, I think this was a kidnapping."

At his side, Rex growled, showing his distaste for anyone who would dare bring harm to his master.

Veronica sighed. "Arcade-"

"It's not impossible. Klaus has political enemies on all sides. The NCR doesn't like him because he advocates for Vegas's independence, Mr. House supporters don't like him because he cut off House's resources, and the Legion loathes him because of all their invasion plans he's foiled from right under their noses-"

"Arcade!" Veronica silenced him with a firm tone and a quick wave of her hand, a sympathetic look on her face that almost crossed the line into pity. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and took a deep breath, trying to decide how best to approach a man in denial. "The NCR doesn't resort to kidnapping their minor political threats when they have the Legion breathing down their necks, Mr. House supporters are mostly limited to the Strip, where Klaus is very well-respected, and this is too far across the Colorado for Legion to be skulking about. I'm sorry, Arcade, but you're going to have to accept the evidence that he's not coming back." Her own grief was starting to leak into her voice, making her sound more threatening, which was an odd match for her bubbly personality. "I know it's hard to lose someone close to you, but that's life. Klaus either abandoned us, which makes him a way bigger asshat than any of those thugs in Red Rock Canyon, or he's dead in a ditch somewhere with nightstalkers ripping up his corpse. It's how life works here."

Rex whimpered, and lowered his head at those harsh words. Arcade locked his jaw before he retaliated out of defense and said something he would later come to regret. Instead of using words, he just reached into his coat pocket and pulled out that gun, showing it to Veronica, who seemed to take a new turn upon the sight of it.

"Why would he…?" Veronica started as she looked over the name on the slide, the weathered metal that no longer shone as brightly as a new firearm.

"My thoughts exactly."


	3. Chapter 3

It was odd, how blood tasted like metal. Such a smooth fluid, and yet, when it hits your tongue, it has that same sharp twang that you might expect from a blade. Even stranger yet was how it clung, its colour staining every unfortunate fabric it comes into contact with, leaving behind its remnants of the past that are not easily scrubbed away. At least, not from the cheap, frayed robes they were made to wear by those who saw them as lesser.

Klaus spat out a wad of saliva and blood, the thick mixture dripping down his mouth like a drooling dog as he stared at the rocky dirt beneath his hands, now dyed scarlet. He locked his jaw and shut his eyes, bracing himself before another blow hit him square in the face with enough force to knock him back. A thinly-disguised yelp of pain escaped against his will as the frames of his glasses dug hard into the bridge of his nose.

"What do you say to me?" The sinister voice hissed from above, coupled with a hard kick to his side from a boot to push him onto his back. Klaus had learned to fear that voice, but he did not let it show. No, he would be damned if he gave them another reason to punish him.

When Klaus didn't answer, due to the wind getting knocked out of his lungs, he earned himself a stomp to his left hand, the pain of his bones being pushed to their limits making him wince, biting down on his own teeth as hard as he could just to keep from crying out. "Speak!"

Even when angry, that voice sounded calm, collected, deep, and smooth as honey. It was easy to listen to, it rolled off its owners tongue easily, but that satisfying baritone held a sociopathic madness that edged into his every word.

"Sorry," Klaus coughed out as best as he could, but that wasn't good enough for his superior.

"I didn't fucking hear you," he snarled, emphasizing his distaste by digging his boot harder into Klaus's hand.

"I'm sorry!" Klaus instinctively tried to yank his hand away, but that only made the agony grow in intensity. It kept getting worse, until he thought that his knuckles might break, but then that foot was lifted, taking with it the pain. Both of his hands had started trembling when he pulled his injured one towards him, still throbbing with a dull ache as he examined it. Nothing broken, but it would definitely bruise, and nastily.

The quick self-assessment Klaus was performing was interrupted when the world blurred over, a cruel hand ripping the glasses off his face. He rapidly and clumsily sat up, knowing that he couldn't protest if he wanted to stay out of the arena. He could only watch with squinted hazel eyes as his constant tormentor dropped them into the dirt in front of him, simply to step on one of the lenses with his full weight as he sauntered off, the canine's head that he wore as a status symbol blurring over more as Vulpes headed towards the food tent.

Klaus scrambled over to his glasses, wiping the dust off of them with his dirty sleeve. The right lens was chipped and cracked to the point of almost shattering, but, astonishingly, it kept together. The frames were bent now, and sat crooked and awkward on his face when he slipped them on with hands still shaking from lingering adrenaline, but it was better than nothing.

"Are you okay?" A hushed, but concerned voice jostled Klaus's attention up, where another slave was looking over him with sympathy, and offering her hand for support. He gladly took it, and used the extra leverage to pull himself up. He recognized her as Silvia, one of the women who made and distributed the primitive stuff that the Legion passed as medicine. That powder stuff could heal minor injuries without a problem, but more intense physical abuse was out of its league. "I'll see if I can fix your hand, or at least make it more bearable while it heals, but I can't do anything about your glasses." She gave him an apologetic look.

Klaus nodded, still a little shaken. "S'okay," he mumbled in thanks. They were used to helping each other out by now, the slaves. When one of them fell, the others helped them back up. Less could be said about the Legion, who would sooner slaughter their weaker links than address their flaws and train them to be better.

Silvia tried her best to lead Klaus to the medical tent without notice, sticking to the wall and avoiding the troops. If they could just get thee, she could sneak him some extra healing powder, wrap up his hand, maybe do something about that bruise that was starting to spill from the side of his nose and leak to the skin near his eye. They all had it bad when they screwed up, but Klaus seemed to get the worst of it, especially from Vulpes. That man beat the poor guy like they had a score to settle, with a vindictiveness in his flaming, borderline demonic eyes that's usually reserved for old enemies.

The shock seemed to be wearing off of Klaus as they neared the tent, and he lifted a hand to wipe the excess blood and saliva off of his face and push his unruly hair back and out of his eyes. He felt around in his mouth with his tongue, finding that one of his canines had been knocked out at some point, leaving a bleeding gap where it once rested. They were almost inside when an authoritative voice cut through the noise and got their attention.

"Hey, you!" A young scout with a scarf covering the lower half of his face approached them, gesturing at Klaus. "Blade, sharpen, now." he demanded, dropping a broad machete in Klaus's hands, seeing and taking notice of the slave's injured hand, but clearly not caring about how this might affect his comfort. "I'll be eating lunch with some other scouts. It better be finished before I am." With that warning, the man took his leave.

Klaus looked down to the weapon in his hands, and let out a long, resigned sigh. "I guess I'll catch you later," he said to Silvia, who looked irritated with this wrench in her plans.

"You could ask one of the others to cover for you. I don't think they care who does what as long as it gets done. Hell, I don't think they even take the time to register our faces."

Klaus just shook his head. "It's not a big deal, I can do it."

"I will never understand your lack of self-preservation in this environment." Silvia crossed her arms disapprovingly.

"Neither will I," Klaus shot her a forced smile as he started to walk off, towards the nearest unoccupied sharpening stone.

"If your hand gets worse, don't start crying when I patch you up this time, you idiot."

"I'll try my best!" He called to Silvia in a chipper, teasing tone, but when Otho pushed past and shot him a threatening glare for making his voice heard without express permission, Klaus quickly, if reluctantly, shut his mouth.

"I'm going with you." A first recon sniper firmly stated, leaving no room for argument.

"Me too." An NCR-trained sharpshooter expressed drowsily, perhaps a little chagrined at having been woken up so early.

" _Ruff!_ " A cyberdog barked in excitement, his tail wagging hard enough to make his whole body wiggle.

Happy beeping could be heard from an eyebot.

"Lily?" Arcade asked the nightkin who had been quiet until now.

She looked to her friends, thought about going, but ultimately decided against it. "Someone has to keep Leo in his place, and it looks like you are more than capable of getting my favourite grandson back." she said in her low, gravelly neutral tone.

Arcade didn't blame her for staying; her mental issues often spelled danger for not only herself, but those around her if she experienced a break at the wrong time.

"Raul?" Veronica drew attention to the pre-war ghoul who was watching this all unfold with crossed arms.

"Hate to say it, but I'm gonna have to stay. M'not exactly as combat experienced as I used to be, and I think an arthritic old man would only slow the rest of you down. Plus, someone has to make sure that Lily doesn't try to adopt any more grandchildren while you're gone. I'd hate to come back to a pet nightstalker she took off the street because it followed her home." Raul shrugged, always having been one to serve his honest opinion with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

Arcade nodded in understanding, and addressed the group as a whole. "We're all here because Klaus decided that we were worth more than we knew, so it's time that we repaid that favour. Get your weapons, pack as many supplies and as much ammo as will fit in your bags, and then pack more, because this is going to be a long road ahead. Let's head out while we still have a lead."


End file.
